


Yes Darling

by applecameron



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Barebacking, Consensual, Crossdressing, M/M, Sexual Roleplay, butt plug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 06:19:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7703764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/applecameron/pseuds/applecameron





	Yes Darling

When Arthur comes in, shaking rain off as he takes off his coat and puts his umbrella away, Eames is perched on the edge of the big wingback chair, back straight, legs crossed at the ankle, hands in his lap. There's a martini waiting on the sideboard, Eames had finished it just as he heard the key in the lock, and had to scramble to get into position, poised and feeling beautiful for his man. 

"Hello, darling." He gets up, feeling anew the confinement of his clothing - the corset under the blouse, the way the bracelet weighs on his wrist, the skirt, the stockings, and the shoes, all of it, all very post-war 1940s, so very deliciously to Arthur's taste. He's to Arthur's taste, tonight. 

He smoothes his hand down Arthur's coat as he hangs it properly, then kisses him on the cheek. Arthur's eyes are smiling, his mouth, just faintly ticked up at the edges. 

"Eames. How are you." 

"Infinitely better now that you're here." 

Arthur catches him around the waist briefly and they both inhale, feeling Eames' cinched waist and Arthur's hand upon it. "It's good to be home." He takes Eames' fingers and kisses him, tapping one knuckle with his pursed lips, then touching the same spot with his thumb, before releasing them both. 

Eames helps him out of his shirt jacket. "Go sit down, I've made you a drink." 

Arthur never actually drinks it all, but he always accepts it with an ever-more-present smile, and sips once, as Eames is still bent over presenting it to him, and allows his eyes to survey Eames' look for the night. His blouse is patterned demurely, dark skirt smooth over his hips. "Impeccable," he says, finally, meaning either the outfit, or the martini, or both. 

Eames kneels gracefully, and unties Arthur's shoes for him, taking them off and reveling in the feel of the skin of his ankles and feet as the socks go next. He has to be careful not to accidentally tickle Arthur. He takes everything into the bedroom, even lifting the hamper lid languidly to deposit the socks there, although Arthur's not watching him, but there's no need to rush, they have forever to do this tonight, and then tucking the shoes into their appointed spot. 

When he comes back out, Arthur has had his second sip, and put the martini down for the night. He's just finishing rolling up his cuffs. Looks up at Eames and smiles. 

"Come sit in my lap." 

"Yes, darling." 

It's clear from the way he guides Eames into position that Arthur wants him astride. They rest there together, foreheads touching, Eames' skirt pushed up so he could spread his legs, no longer so decorous with his pants and garter belt on view, the air just a little cool on the bare skin of his upper thighs. Without the fabric of the skirt to help contain him, his erection feels so much more full. His skin comes over goosebumps as Arthur strokes along his cinched waist, not yet touching any of the skin on show for him, and then puts Eames' arms around his shoulders. They kiss, Arthur controlling it, one hand at the small of his back, one at his jaw. Eames shudders and tries to rock, but Arthur just tightens his hands and dominates the kiss harder, until Eames moans. He loves the contrast of hard and gentle in Arthur, just as much as he loves being half-undressed in his lap, skirt pushed up and skin waiting for his touch, while the rest of him is still ensconced in tight fabrics. The mix of sensation, of freedom and confinement, of being helpless and precious and devoured, overwhelms him and Arthur releases him a little so he can writhe with the moment. 

"So lovely for me." 

"Yes, darling," he says hoarsely. 

They close back in and now, oh, now, Arthur's hands reach the skin on display for him, the soft skin of Eames's thighs. 

"Are you wet for me?" He pulls the skirt all the way up, bunching it at Eames waist, then tugs at the thong - definitely not period attire - nestled between Eames's cheeks. It's wet from the lube Eames used generously. Eames stretched himself when he was bathing earlier, part of his preparation for the night. 

"Yes, darling." 

Arthur's fingers probe along the crack of Eames' arse, verifying the statement. "So, it seems." His eyes darken. "Show me." 

Eames rises, skirt staying bunched up around his waist, a little unsteady for a moment, then unclips his stockings and peels down the thong underpants until Arthur catches them with his fingers and pulls them all the way down for him, letting Eames brace on him as he lifts one leg and then the other. Arthur smoothes his stockings back into place for him, re-clipping them into position, carefully, so the same reddened indents formed by the garter clips are reclaimed, this time by Arthur's hands. 

Then he inspects the thong, feeling the wet patch in the front from Eames' leaking cock, and the wet fabric of the string from his lubed arse. 

"You're so wet tonight." 

"'Yes, darling." 

Arthur folds the thong up into a small packet, kisses it, and then puts it in his trouser pocket. "For safekeeping." 

Eames moans, untouched. 

Arthur pats his lap invitingly. His erection is visible through his trousers. 

Eames wants it so bad he thinks he will come if he bends over to undo Arthur. "Darling-" 

Arthur sees it, the desperate scope of his need, but just says, "turn around for me, Eames." 

He struggles with his control over the sounds of Arthur freeing his cock from his trousers, and unbuttoning his shirt, coming down from the edge a little. 

Finally, "In my lap, Eames. Now." There's a growl to his tone that tells him any delay, any objection, from Eames will lead to a spanking, and under other circumstances, Eames would be thrilled to bounce over his lap as his arse reddened under Arthur's ministrations, but all he can spare the thought for is on not coming too soon, there's no room for flirty disobedience and delightful punishments tonight. 

Arthur guides him, parting his cheeks as Eames lowers himself, trembling now with the arousal, with having to rely on him to position them both, with being in Arthur's hands, with the sensation as Arthur's bare cockhead pushes into him. 

Finally, they're joined, and Eames is making low noises in the back of his throat before Arthur even braces himself against the sofa and starts to thrust. He fucks Eames firmly, confidently, as if he knows every nook and crevice of Eames' body, of his desire, which he does, he truly does, and Eames takes it all greedily, voice getting louder with each thrust that strokes his prostate and brings him ever closer to orgasm. 

But Arthur loves Eames on his knees, which is why there is a thick rug in front of the sofa, and finally tumbles them down so that Eames is positioned with his body flat over the coffee table, face turned to rest his right cheek against the glass, arms flung out and grasping for the edge, as Arthur takes his place between Eames' spread legs and abruptly fucks back into him. 

It doesn't take long, Arthur's lean, bare, body pressed against Eames' blouse, the sides of his shirt fluttering about them both as he thrusts, Eames breathing against the pressure, against the tightness of his corset, and then letting everything go with a shout as Arthur, finally, blessedly, touches his cock. He paints the underside of the coffee table with his come as Arthur fucks him through it and then comes inside him. He can feel the heat, Arthur marking him on the inside with his come as he's marked him so many times with the tight clothing Arthur picks for him, the corset, the skirt, the blouse with shell buttons that keep his wrist confined as if Arthur's hand is on him at all times. He rests in the bliss of it all as they both pant, Arthur's head pressed to Eames back, until he finally softens and slips out. 

"It's all right," he murmurs consolingly to Eames' noise of protest. "I have a new toy for you. Stay just like that." Arthur lifts up but keeps his hand on Eames's back, where the corset still keeps him rigidly confined. He rustles for something in the drawer of the end table. 

It's revealed to be a plug, sleekly black, and Eames opens his mouth without Arthur telling him to, closing his eyes as he wets the toy. His eyes roll up into his head as Arthur opens him up with his fingers, feeling his own come and the lube, and slides the toy into him, with a murmured, "you're so beautiful for me." It's thick near the base, but his body takes it in and takes it in, and it's not quite pressing on his prostate when it's fully situated. Arthur tugs and twists at it a little until it's positioned to his satisfaction, no doubt with the flared base neatly lined up with the line of the crack of his arse. He focuses on the feel of it inside, whether he'll be able to move to get cleaned up, whether he'll be able to sleep with it in. 

Arthur stands up and Eames hears him removing the rest of his clothing, draping his trousers and shirt over the arm of the sofa, then pulling Eames up to his knees, helping him stand as the plug moves inside him, provoking a full body shudder and Arthur's arms wrapping around him, whispering how good he was, how he was taking this so well. He wants to say _I would take anything you give me_ , but the words won't come out. Arthur knows the words, anyway. 

He stands passively as Arthur removes his clothing for him, one piece at a time, starting with the bracelet, then unbuttoning his sleeves, then the rest of the blouse. He drapes the blouse over the back of the sofa and pushes the skirt down to unzip it, then slides it down. 

He takes his time on the corset, fingers exploring ever new centimeter of revealed, marked, skin, then kneels and kisses Eames' abdomen, ignoring his cock's renewed interest. 

Once Eames is bare save the garter belt, stockings, and heels, Arthur takes him by the hand and leads him to the bathroom, where he turns on the water, kissing him sweetly as they wait for it to heat up. Finally he releases Eames from the last of his clothing, and guides him carefully into the shower, taking his time there as he does with everything else, recording every sound Eames makes when he touches him, when the plug moves inside him. 

When they climb into bed, dry, Eames' cock is fully hard again. Arthur lays him down on his back, then fondles and pinches at his nipples with one hand for a while, until Eames is nearly mad with the soft touches alternating with little bursts of pain. He pushes at the base of the plug when he takes Eames into his mouth, and he comes almost immediately. 

"I suspected you might like that." Arthur said smugly, laying down beside him. 

Dazed, all Eames can say are the two most important words in his lexicon. "Yes, darling." 

Arthur pulls them together and composes them for sleep. "In the morning, I'm going to take out that plug and fuck you until both of us are screaming." 

They both feel the shudder that rolls through Eames in response. Arthur grips him tighter. "What do you say to that?" He murmurs into Eames' hair. 

"Yes, darling." he says. "Yes, darling."


End file.
